


A Chance Meeting

by Kantayra of Yore (Kantayra)



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-09-01
Updated: 2002-09-01
Packaged: 2017-10-19 03:37:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/196448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kantayra/pseuds/Kantayra%20of%20Yore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shortly after 'Crush', Spike and Joyce run into each other one final time and discuss life, love, and everything. A Spike & Joyce friendship fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Chance Meeting

The cashier of the all-night convenience store looked up when the bell above the door jingled and smiled at the customer who walked in.

“Mrs. Summers!” he said in delight. “I see you’re up and about again.”

“The first errand my daughters have let me run,” Joyce agreed sheepishly.

“How are you feeling?” he inquired.

“Well enough,” Joyce gave him a grateful smile. “Thanks so much for asking.”

“No big,” the clerk shrugged modestly. “Just glad to see you’re back with us. Can I help you with anything?”

“Just a milk run,” Joyce called out from the rear aisle. “Nothing I can’t handle…”

“Give me a holler if you need any help,” the clerk responded before returning to the latest addition of Cycle Monthly.

It wasn’t long before the door chimed again. He looked up to see that weird punk guy that came in from time to time. He was probably the rudest customer the clerk had ever encountered, but he had a mean set of wheels.

“You got any _good_ fags?” the man demanded, snorting in disgust at all the brand names along the wall behind the counter. “Anythin’ _not_ American?”

“Sorry, sir,” the clerk replied nervously. This man always made him edgy…especially because of the rumors that he _wasn’t_ actually a man.

“Jus’ give me the cheapest lot o’ whatever crap you’ve got then,” the man said, irritated blue eyes drilling right through the cashier. He tossed a couple of crumpled bills on the counter.

“Marlboro’s OK?” the clerk inquired, his hand shaking slightly when he reached out to get them.

His customer let out a resigned sigh. “S’pose,” he said disinterestedly.

The cashier rung up the purchase while the man rifled through several magazines, looking bored as hell. Change and the newest pack of smokes slipped into hidden pockets of the black leather duster the man always wore. He was just turning to leave when he stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide and nostrils flaring.

“Something wrong?” the clerk asked him, concerned.

“Bloody ‘ell!” he exclaimed before bolting out the door.

“Huh,” the clerk shook his head, confused. “I wonder what that was all about,” he commented to Joyce who’d just emerged from the snack aisle.

“What was what about?” Joyce asked curiously, setting the gallon of milk and box of ultra sugary cereal on the counter.

“Customer just ran out of here, sniffing the air and swearing,” the clerk shook his head and rung up the purchase.

“Maybe he smelled something burning,” Joyce suggested. She sniffed the air, smelled nothing, and shrugged.

The cashier shrugged as well. “Strange guy,” he commented, off-hand. “That all?”

“Yup,” Joyce agreed, “Supermom saves breakfast once again.”

“Have a nice evening then, Mrs. Summers,” the clerk waved good-bye.

“You, too,” Joyce called out before leaving the store, grocery bag cradled under one arm. She made her way hurriedly to the SUV, years of experience as the Slayer’s mother keeping her on the alert for any sign of supernatural trouble. Nevertheless, she didn’t hear the Vahrall Demon until it was right behind her…

* * *

Spike practically flew from the convenience store, quickly rounding the corner and coming to rest against the side of the building, panting for unnecessary breath. This was _definitely_ not of the good. Dammit! Now he was even _thinking_ in that strange language she seemed to think was English.

But that had been close. Too close. Joyce had nearly seen him. Maybe she had. What if she’d looked up into those mirrors that lined the ceiling to prevent shoplifters and…

 _Relax, mate_ , his rational mind finally took over. _Vampire, remember? No reflection…_

Out of habit he took a deep breath to calm himself. This was getting to be ridiculous. He was the Big Bad, after all. He shouldn’t have to spend all his time running from the Slayer and her acquaintances. In fact, in a town as small as Sunnydale, it was nearly impossible. And what could they do to him, anyway? Stake him? It wasn’t like he cared anymore. He had nothing to lose.

Except Joyce.

She was the only one he hadn’t seen since… _that night_. The others had already cast him out, told him in no uncertain terms that they all despised him with their entire beings. He’d even seen it in the Bitty Buffy’s eyes, and that had hurt more than anything else.

But Joyce hadn’t had the chance to reject him yet, and he didn’t know if he could stand to know that every single person he cared about hated him.

He didn’t think he could have gotten through his fallout with Dru without Joyce’s support. But this time… He had no delusions that she would give him so much as the time of day.

He vanished into the shadows that way that only vampires can when Joyce finally exited the store. She looked well – much better than the last time he’d seen her. It looked like she was recovering nicely. The thought brought the first smile to his face in weeks.

It quickly changed to a frown, though, when he saw the Vahrall Demon circling around the edges of the parking lot lights. _Just go about on your way, mate_ , Spike tried to influence it telepathically. _There are plenty of kills elsewhere…_ The demon didn’t heed his silent pleas. Spike let out a sigh of exasperation and took off toward the lot with blinding speed to cut the demon off in its tracks…

* * *

Joyce screamed at the sight of the huge, fanged demon lunging at her. Instants before it struck, though, something tackled it sideways, and the two bodies fell to the ground in front of her in a snarling heap. She stared at the mass of tangled fangs and claws in shock and horror for a minute before she remembered the spare stake her daughter always made sure she had. She fumbled about in her purse frantically for a bit, but it was too late.

The second demon caught the first by the throat, and ripped its head clean off of the other beast’s shoulders. Joyce gasped and took a step back when the second demon looked up at her with feral, yellow eyes…and then her eyes widened in recognition.

“ _Spike_?!” she exclaimed in disbelief.

The vampire’s features instantly morphed back into their more familiar planes, and he rose slowly to his feet. “You all right?” he asked nervously, holding out one hand to her.

Joyce flinched away from it as if it were a venomous snake.

“S-Sorry,” he said, slowly backing up. “I…was jus’ tryin’ to help.” He retreated to the edge of the circle of light created by the overhead streetlight, preparing to vanish once more into the night.

“Wait!” Joyce called out just as the darkness seemed to fold in around him.

She didn’t know exactly why she’d stopped him. Maybe it was that sad, lost look in his eyes and the deep shadows in the circles beneath them. Or perhaps the forlorn note in his voice when she’d recoiled from his touch. Whatever it was, it melted through he instinctive anger she’d felt after what he’d done to her daughter.

“Spike, wait,” she pleaded.

Cautiously, he stepped back into the light. “I know ‘m s’posed to stay away from you lot,” he hastily apologized, “but I wasn’t lookin’ for you, honest. I just went in to buy some smokes, an’ then I smelled you so I ran, but then you were in trouble, an’ I couldn’t jus’ let you…let it…”

“It’s OK,” Joyce assured him, a bit charmed by his nervous babbling. “You saved my life. Thank you.”

If it were at all possible for a vampire, he would have blushed. “Haven’t done anythin’ worth your thanks,” he insisted, looking down at his boots.

“You didn’t have to help me,” Joyce countered. “Especially after…” She trailed off.

“Yeah,” he nervously looked back to the shadows and the protection they provided. “How are you?” he dared to ask her.

“OK,” she responded somewhat awkwardly. “Pretty good, actually.”

“That’s good,” he nodded, hands buried deep in his pockets. “Was worried about you…”

She gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you,” she repeated.

She was actually somewhat astonished by his behavior. She’d somehow expected him to suddenly act like the cold-blooded killer everyone had always insisted he was. Instead, she saw the shy, lonely boy she’d always known…perhaps even more so now.

“How have you been?” she asked cautiously.

The look he gave her broke her heart. He looked as though he’d never expected that anyone would ask him that question ever again, that anyone would ever care.

“OK,” he tried to shrug nonchalantly. “Not that I don’t regret what I did,” he hastily amended, “’cause I do, but…” He trailed off, embarrassed, and looked anywhere but at her.

“Tell me about it,” Joyce requested, unlocking the doors to her SUV.

“’S nothin’,” he insisted. “Anyway you have to go home, get back to your loved ones, an’—” He fought back a sob.

“I’ve got plenty of time,” she informed him, “and we haven’t had a chat in a good, long while.”

“The milk,” he finally protested, pointing to the bag she carried. “It’ll spoil…”

Joyce resisted the urge to laugh. The idea of discussing the finer points of food storage with a vampire in the middle of a deserted parking lot was just a bit too much.

He gave her a confused look.

She opened the back door and put the newly bought milk into the cooler they’d left there after last week’s picnic. “No milk problem,” she gave him a fond smile, “and before you can comment on the disinvite, come on in.” She opened the passenger side door for him.

“Shouldn’ta done that,” he gestured at the vehicle nervously. “Was disinvited for a reason…”

“It’s my car,” she insisted. “Not Buffy’s. I can invite anyone in I want to.”

“Slayer wouldn’t want me to—” he began.

“Anything could be lurking out in those shadows,” Joyce pointed out. “I’d feel better if you were with me.”

“All right then,” he agreed, trying to hide his eagerness as he slid into the seat beside her and shut the door. Instantly, the smell assaulted him once more. His Slayer had obviously been the last one to sit here, and her scent was still fresh. He took in a few deep breaths, savoring the presence of his love as if it were sustenance.

Not knowing his thoughts, Joyce couldn’t help but smile to herself; appealing to the male ego _always_ worked, no matter what the species. “You look tired,” she commented to vampire beside her, not bothering to start up the engine.

“Haven’t slept much since…” He still seemed too embarrassed to mention the incident.

“Have you tried sleeping pills?” Joyce asked.

“It’s…the dreams,” he finally confessed. “Can’t stand them anymore now that I know that she…she’ll…” He looked off into space and tried to compose himself. “’m sorry ‘bout what happened,” he finally mumbled.

“Why did you do it?” Joyce asked wearily.

“Dunno,” he sighed. “I-If she was a vampire—”

“She’s not a vampire,” Joyce cut him off sternly.

“I know,” he sniffled slightly. “I jus’…”

“Yes?” Joyce demanded.

“I jus’ didn’t know what to do,” he finally admitted. “Sh-She wouldn’t even let me talk to her. An’ then Dru came back, an’…it got all complicated, twisted. I didn’t want to hurt her, though.” He gave Joyce a pleading look. “Please believe that I never meant to hurt her…”

“I don’t know if I _can_ believe you,” Joyce said in a tight voice. “After what you did…”

“’m so sorry!” he exclaimed, finally breaking out into tears. “Never wanted to see her ‘urt,” he gasped unnecessarily between sobs. “I just thought,” sniff, “that maybe somewhere deep down,” sniff, sniff, “she cared ‘bout me, too.” The full-fledged crying began anew.

Joyce’s maternal instincts battled back and forth in two directions, until the ache she was feeling at seeing the vampire in so much pain finally won out. “Hey, there,” she said soothingly, patting his shoulder through the black leather. “It’s nothing to cry about.”

“But it is,” he protested wearily. “My unlife was finally starting to look up, you know?” he began nostalgically. “The Scoobies…they didn’t really like me, but they let me hang around from time to time. I could drop by the Watcher’s for a pint of blood an’ a quick chat, or I could challenge the Whelp to a game o’ pool, or I could help Red out with whatever she was studyin’… Even the Slayer came to me for help every once in a while.” He smiled tiredly and wiped the tears from his eyes. “An’ the Nibblet…your little one,” he turned to Joyce, “she would come over at all sorts o’ inappropriate times an’ listen to all my stories… I almost thought we were friends,” he admitted shyly.

“You were,” Joyce reassured him. “She really liked you, thought you were the greatest thing since sliced bread.”

“Tha’s my L’il Bit,” he said proudly. Then his expression darkened again. “Or at least she was… Now none of ‘em ‘ll even talk to me…”

“They have their reasons,” Joyce pointed out.

“They do,” Spike agreed. “I knew all along that they were the Slayer’s friends, not mine…”

“Then why don’t you just drop this thing with my daughter?” she demanded.

“Because I _can’t_!” he screamed in frustration. “You don’t get it! None of you get it! I _love_ her! This is not some obsession or some stalker thing. I really an’ truly love her!”

“Spike,” Joyce said hesitantly, “I know it may _seem_ like—”

“Seem?!” he growled at her, outraged. “I know what love is. I loved Drusilla for a hundred an’ twenty soddin’ years. An’ what I feel for Buffy…everything I had with Dru jus’ pales in comparison… Your daughter was the light o’ my unlife, Joyce. She was my bleedin’ sun, an’ the Bit was my mornin’ star, an’ now they’re gone forever, an’…bloody hell! Here comes the bad poetry! Think ‘ve finally lost it…”

Joyce couldn’t help but smile. “No, you’ll _really_ have lost it when you _stop_ composing the bad poetry.”

He let out a wry chuckle. “S’pose so,” he said sheepishly. Then a confident light came into his eyes. “I _do_ love her,” he insisted. “I love her with every beat my dead heart doesn’t take…”

“OK,” Joyce decided to the point pass for now, “but what she really wants is for you to give her space.”

“’m tryin’,” Spike insisted. “It’s so hard…but ‘m tryin’. ‘ve stayed away from her, an’ the house, an’ her Scoobies. But ‘m just so…alone.”

“Maybe you should try making some friends of your own,” Joyce suggested.

He snorted derisively. “Yeah? Where? Humans run screamin’ in fear the instant they fight out what I am, an’ demons all shun me ‘cause ‘m on the Slayer’s payroll. Not like anyone would want to be friends with me anyway,” he sulked. “Shoulda just run off with Dru, started the whole evil thing up again…”

“Why didn’t you?” she asked curiously.

“Didn’t want to,” he shrugged. “Wanted to stay here an’ help the Slayer, an’ hang out with Nibblet, an’…an’ drink your hot chocolate with the little marshmallows…” He gave her that boyish grin of his, and she couldn’t help but smile back. “Shoulda known it would never work out,” he went on, grim once more. “After all, ‘m just a monster. I don’t deserve—” He cut off the sentence with a sob. “’m not worth—” All coherent speech deteriorated into tears once again.

“Oh, there, there,” Joyce gave his shoulder a little squeeze. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’re the sweetest vampire I’ve ever met…and I’ve met an inordinate amount,” she tried to joke.

“What good does,” sob, “that do me,” sniff, “when no one ever loves me?” he finally demanded. Then, he practically threw himself at her, crying bitterly into her shoulder.

“Shh,” she hushed his tears after she got over the initial shock of suddenly having a vampire in her arms. She gave him a friendly hug. “It’ll be all right. Some day you’ll find someone who loves you every bit as much as you love her, and the two of you will spend many happy centuries killing anything you feel like.”

“Really?” He looked up at her hopefully. “You’re not jus’ sayin’ that…?” he asked uncertainly.

“I know it,” Joyce said confidently. “The one for you is out there somewhere.”

“How do you know?” he asked bitterly. “You never found anyone.”

“But I don’t have eternity to look,” she pointed out. “Eventually you’ll find her.”

“You sure?” he wiped away the last of his tears and took the Kleenex Joyce offered him to blow his nose.

“Positive,” she gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “Now, do you have your car here?”

He shook his head. “I walked,” he responded meekly.

“Then let me give you a ride home,” Joyce insisted.

“You don’t need to—”

“I _want_ to.”

“OK, then.”

She started the engine. “Buckle up,” she ordered him.

“’m already dead—” he began.

“If someone hit us, you could go right out that windshield and be beheaded,” Joyce said sternly. “Now, buckle up.”

“Yes, Mum.”

The drive to Sunnydale Cemetery was made in companionable silence.

“Here we are,” Joyce said, pulling up to the gate nearest his crypt.

“Thanks,” he said shyly, ducking his head. “For the ride, I mean. An’…listenin’. I haven’t really had anyone to talk to since…” He trailed off, and then his brow furrowed. “Well, ‘cept that homeless guy I cornered in that alley an’ jus’ started yammerin’ all my problems to,” he began to ramble. “If ‘e wasn’t nuts before, ‘e prob’ly is now…”

“It’ll be all right,” Joyce insisted. “You’ll find someone. Just…not my daughter,” she added apologetically.

“’S all right,” he gave her a weak smile. “’m the sorta bloke every parent tries to keep their daughters away from. You’re just bein’ a good mum. I’m…glad she’s got someone like you.”

“Thank you,” Joyce gave him a regretful smile. “You’re a good man, William.”

He looked embarrassed by her praise and muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “I’m _still_ evil.”

“Slayer won’t like that ‘ve been talkin’ to you,” he finally said out loud.

“She doesn’t have to know,” she said softly. “It can be our little secret.”

“Thanks,” he sniffed slightly.

“You’ll be OK?” she inquired.

“Yeah,” he shrugged and climbed out of the vehicle.

“Try not to think about it tonight,” she advised. “Watch your tapes of ‘Passions’ and try to relax.”

“Will do, Mum,” he gave her a little wave good-bye and disappeared into the night.

Joyce smiled, shook her head, and drove back home.

* * *

Spike woke to the sound of knocking on the door to his crypt. By the time he’d made it upstairs the door had opened and closed, once more blocking out the sun’s deadly rays.

“Anyone here?” he inquired, sensing as he did so that his crypt was empty.

Then he noticed something just inside the door. He sniffed the paper bag cautiously before he recognized the scent of the mysterious deliverer. Eagerly, he looked inside and pulled out several packages of hot chocolate and a bag of marshmallows. A note fluttered to the ground at his feet, and he quickly picked it up to read it.

“ ‘Something to help you sleep through those long days until you find her’,” was written in elegant handwriting. “ ‘Love, Joyce’.”

“Thanks, Mum,” he said with a slight smile on his face.


End file.
